“And normal in flow, or painful? Are there any irregularities?”
“Once in a great while they are irregular,” Hannah said, blushing, because despite the need for it, this was not a thing a lady ever discussed with a stranger,“and at times, painful, but then I have a spoonful of Mrs. Pinkham’s and am fine the next day.”
“I see,” the doctor said. “How, may I ask, do you pass your time now, my dear?”
“I am employed by Mr. K-Kenneth Howard, a theatrical impresario,” Hannah said, catching herself in time. As the doctor only stared at her, she added hurriedly, “My family is in the theater, it is a world I know quite well.”
The doctor began to nod wisely. Then she looked at Hannah and smiled. It was a wonderful, knowing, sympathetic smile that warmed Hannah’s heart as it raised her spirits, and caused her to return it.
“I see. The theater. The bad hours. The poor diet. The lack of exercise and the lack of fresh air. Do you lace tightly, my dear?” the doctor asked.
“Why, yes, I suppose I do,” Hannah said doubtfully, her smile fading, because she’d the sudden idea that things were going terribly wrong.
“No, no, and no!” the doctor said, rising and pacing the room like a small, agitated fury.
She reached to a rolled-up chart on the white wall and pulled it down with a snap. She tapped the illustration of a corset with one hard finger. “Look!” she cried, and then tapped an adjacent drawing of a curled-up spine shown through a transparent female body, with a welter of colorful internal organs clinging helterskelter to it. “The evils of constriction! The womb, the bowel, and the stomach, crushed! Throw the corset on the fire, along with fashion’s rule. Men do not consider that the flower they admire is being crushed so that they may admire it. Bloomers,” she said sagely, “so that the internal organs can breathe free. Bate’s waists, flannel union suits, and no more lacing. Lacing! There’s your bar to conception, my child, there it is!”
“Ah, but…,” Hannah said anxiously, “it’s not only that I can’t conceive, you see, it’s…”
“Exercise,” the doctor said, nodding her head. “Indian clubs and set-ups, daily, for at least an hour. Eight glasses of water a day. Purify the body, within and without. And deep breathing. D-eeeep breathing,” she said, illustrating as she spoke it. “No more red meats and wines, they are poison. Water, digestive crackers, as Dr. Graham preached, keep the bowels regular and the pores open. That is theroad to health. I will give you a regimen, and you may commence. Next time, we shall see your progress.”
“Ah, but,” Hannah said, closing her eyes so she couldn’t see the doctor’s expression as she said what she had to, “How will that help my prospective husband?”
“You’ll be healthy and sound when you wed, and will be able to bear him a fine infant, if you follow my regimen,” the doctor answered.
“My late husband said he couldn’t…consummate our marriage, and I wanted to know if I am…am, put together right,” Hannah blurted in an agony of embarrassment.
“When are you to be wed?” the doctor asked.
“Ah—soon. We haven’t set a date,” Hannah said, her face burning, her eyes on everything in the neat office but the doctor’s face.
“I see,” Doctor Singer said slowly, as she sat at her desk again. She made a few notes and handed a paper to Hannah. “There is the diet you must follow, and an exercise schedule. When you are wed, and if you still fail to conceive, return to me with your marriage certificate, and we will investigate further.”
She paused, and then stared at Hannah with sadness in her eyes, “My dear,” she said sternly as Hannah’s heart began to race with shame, “I am a female doctor, and I suppose that’s why you came to me. Female physicians have a certain reputation in some quarters…I know it, and deplore it. But I do not practice abortion or irregular medicine,” she said as Hannah, white-faced, rose on shaking legs and tried to summon the courage to flee.
“I know women in the theater have special problems, but I cannot cater to them,” the doctor said, rising to her feet as well, “for I firmly believe that chastity is womankind’s greatest asset. A woman’s delicacy of feeling, her lack of strong lusts and passions—these are our crowns of glory, not the lure of our external bodies, whatever some misguided and debased men may claim. But it is not men alone who are so unprincipled and misled. My child, chastity is the only road for those who are unwed—and for those in a state of holy matrimony: ‘Maternity is the highest shrine of human life, to which true men bow in reverence’—as I say in my text. These pure and noble emotions are what make men revere us, and make us…dare I say it? Yes. They make us, in some ways, superior to men. Walk theright path, my dear,” she said with as much compassion as censure, “and you shall come to no harm.”
“Did you have a good lunch?” Kyle asked curiously when Hannah returned.
“Not really,” she said, to explain her ashen face and shaking hands. She didn’t mention that her lunchtime had cost her five dollars—as much as they said it cost two people to dine at Delmonico’s—although she hadn’t dined at all, and doubted she’d ever be able to eat again.
But the food at the Savarin was so delicious on Wednesday night that she ate enough to match Gray as he devoured his dinner. She could, because she’d left off lacing. And because, as he said, there was something about food that eased homesickness. For just as he’d said, there was also something about Wednesday nights, something that increased homesickness. And that was something she’d suffered from all her life. Except that it seemed she’d found a cure, because he banished all sorrow from her heart all through dinner, and every time she looked at him.
“So we have a theater now, or shall, by the weekend,” she explained, as they sipped their coffee. “It’s the Evergreen, on Twenty-fourth, between Sixth and Seventh, near Proctor’s and not far from Daly’s. We’ve signed some from the old troupe—Lester Claxton is back with us, after his performance in Aspen, Kyle resolved to keep him as our centerpiece—if we can keep him from celebrating after the performance as he did then,” she sighed. And then brightened and said, “And Polly Jenkins—remember little Polly? She’s growing quickly enough for us to be able to use her as a junior ingenue. We’re still looking for a lead female, Titania, after all, has retired.”
They grinned at each other. But then she lowered circles gaze, and began to draw a complex pattern of circles in the slush that was all that remained of her pudding in the bottom of its dessert dish.
“Ah, Kyle has said, and I have thought…I might wish to try to act again,” she said, and looked up to him with every bit of her doubt and fear in her eyes, before she glanced down again quickly. Because it didn’t matter what he thought, afterall, it was her life and she had to get on with it. But she felt hollow now despite all she’d eaten, as she waited for his reaction.
“I think that’s a wonderful idea,” he said slowly. “I think you could be a fine actress, and I think you have to prove it to yourself, if no one else. I know a man, or a woman, can do a lot of dumb things to prove they’re grow-up—who knows that better than me?” he asked, chuckling. “But sometimes, living with doubt can be worse. If you see it as a challenge, it’ll always be there, unless you try it. Then, win or lose, at least you know you had the courage to try.”
It was exactly the answer she’d wanted of him, so it was odd that she had to pick up her coffee cup and swallow her hurt before she could speak again. It was just as well, she thought, as she swallowed past the lump in her throat, that he’d no plans for her that an acting career would get in the way of—like marriage— after all. Ah, but it was wickedly foolish to be hurt, she reminded herself, because although she might be able to do the one thing she’d mentioned, she could never perform the other that he hadn’t, even if he had wanted it of her.
“But,” Gray said very quietly, “knowing you’re capable of doing something doesn’t necessarily mean you have to do it forever. I mean, I proved I could ride that horse, but I didn’t stay on it the rest of my life, did I?”
The relief that flooded through her actually weakened her for a second. Then she smiled at him. “No. Yes. Oh, I mean I agree,” she said, hoping he understood her garbled answer, but from the way he smiled back at her, he knew.
It was early evening when they finished eating, and it seemed not only too early, but too cold to leave him standing in her hall when he took her home. She’d been on her own for months, but she’d never had a man in her rooms, and so her murmured invitation, “If you’d like to come in for a few moments…Not longer, I’m afraid, because of my landlady. I haven’t anything to offer you but conversation, but if you’d like to chat…I don’t usually, but…,” was as much an attempt to explain it to herself as it was to him, and equally unsuccessful. Because the moment he stepped over her threshold and closed the door, she panicked.
